


How Angel Became a Ghoul

by MsOuroboros



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsOuroboros/pseuds/MsOuroboros
Summary: A character study from one of my VtM games, to establish background from before the game started.  Written for myself, but enjoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	How Angel Became a Ghoul

At first, the wrong number calls had been a joke between Angel and her friends. That she was getting calls during the night for a drug dealer, or an assassin. It was true that the calls had a hint of fear or trepidation behind the voices, all asking for someone named Suzette. Often, when told they had reached the wrong number, they'd hang up quickly or stumble over apologies. The first three weeks, there were a half dozen calls, and Angel would repeat them over wine, mimicking the stammering voices, and laughing.

Then, one evening she had found out why she got so many. The voice on the other end was calmer, and asked if this was "4088". Angel's number was "4008", an understandably easy mistake, especially when your hands were shaking like the voices seemed to imply.

That number rattled around in Angel's head afterward, making her uncomfortable, although it took a day to realize why. It clicked midway through shift, as she foamed milk in a cup. She had seen it at her internship at the architectural firm years prior. It was frequently the number on screen for the active her boss, Mr. Simons would be making on his headset. Angel had noticed it for two reasons. First, most of Simons calls flashed the name of the caller and Simons had rather healthy list of contacts. This number was always dialed though, as though he were terrified to save it. Second, usually Simons was the consummate multitasker while on the phone. He would be scrolling on his computer and passing notes to Angel asking her arrange lunch plans, or just pantomiming for coffee. When he talked to 4088 though, it was like nothing else could happen in the room. He would rather frantically wave her out of the office, slamming his usually-open door if she came in. His voice, Angel realized now, had that same hint of fear as the mis-dialed calls she now took.

After shift the next day, she listened to a voicemail meant for this Suzette-4088. It was a near sobbing voice, begging and pleading for more time, for her to spare him. Somewhere in the back of Angels mind, she thought of how her internship had ended, three months before the end of her scheduled two years. Simons had put a bullet in his head one night in his office. The police declared it simple suicide and the remaining partners all had public statements saying things like "regrettable" and "saddened". The entire firm closed its doors within a week.

At the time she had been selfishly angry. The sudden closing and the distance each partner seemed to want to make between themselves and the former firm had meant no seamless transition from unpaid intern to employee like she hoped. Hell, she couldn't even get a letter of recommendation out of the other partners. She was lucky to get a terse recognition that she was there for 21 months from the former HR director. Simons actions were selfish, she had thought, and screwed her over. Now, she sort of wondered if Suzette-4088 had been on the phone with him at the time.

It was a stupid idea but enough to make Angel stop the jokes with her friends, but not enough for her to change her number. Secretly, she sort of enjoyed the thrill of the idea of being on the outskirts of something dangerous, and even reverted her outgoing voicemail message to a generic one that would catch more mis received messages.

It wasn't like she had much else going on in her life. The internship issue as well as a slump in the economy meant that Angel hadn't been able to get a career in her field after college. Her name, she was sure, didn't help. Her mother would say in her half stoned way that she named her Angel Love because she was the most beautiful baby she had ever seen, an angel to be loved. But in the professional world, it just made her look like she should be turning architectural plans scrawled in crayons and glitter. It was a name suited more for a strip club than an office.

Angel had taken a job making coffee to make ends meet after graduation, promising herself it was a stop gap measure to pay bills and student loans, while she sent out letters and resumes. For the first six months she had carried her portfolio to work with her, some thought of always networking being in the back of her mind. As though someone would slam down their mocha and lament "If only there was someone nearby who could help my development plans within the next few minutes! A former solid C student who nonetheless shows a remarkable combination of uses of space with an eco friendly mindset!" And then Angel would slip open papers in front of them to gasps and offers of salary.

Instead, the only networking was with creepy guys who would leer and make off color jokes about her name while she tried to laugh it off for tips.

So Angel could be forgiven for her dark thrill of the wrong numbers. They seemed to hint at something just below the surface, huge and powerful surrounding this Suzette-4088. Voicemails that referenced shipments, or deliveries. Answering to strange accents and odd noises in the background. 

Some caught her attention more than others. There was a voicemail that started with the introduction, "This is David Hunter..." David Hunter? As in the giant "Re Elect David Hunter" billboards? Didn't seem possible. Another nervously said there was an issue with the wharf project. It was a week later the city newspaper published that the giant rebuilding of a tourist area at the wharf had fallen through due to zoning issues. A man named Anderson called to express his disappointment that Suzette wouldn't be at the groundbreaking ceremony the next morning, but thanking her for her help. A glance through the newspapers showed the next morning to be the day ground was broken on a high end skyscraper, the mayor and the governor and David Hunter in attendance.

Angel was updating her resume when this coalesced into a decision. She now showed six years working at the same coffee shop. That wasn't the resume of an out of work architect, that was a barista in denial. But Suzette-4088, with all her probable connections to illegal activities and seemingly underhanded deals, also seemed involved with building industry. There were worse networking connections than a wrong number.

A call came in a few days later, an unknown local number and Angel took a breath and answered it "Suzette's office."

"Hello. Uh, this is George. Is Suzette there?"

"This is her secretary. Can I take a message?" Angel hoped her voice was professional enough to fool him

"Yeah, uh. Let her know I got her message and will be there tomorrow night."

"At Suzette's office?" 

"Yeah. Like, like the note said, right?" He seemed on edge, but hopefully that meant he was less suspicious.

"Yes... let me just verify the address you have for her office."

"Uh, 6444 Georgia street. Ten oclock, the note says."

"Thank you, I'll let her know." 

And Angel hung up, took a breath, and planned the most unusual job interview possible.

The next morning, Angel angered over her choice of clothes. Her "interview suit" bought six years prior was too tight to zip over her hips. Too much of her wardrobe bought since had become coffee shop friendly all black. But she had a simple white button down shirt that could be paired with black slacks. Flats, she thought, nude lipstick.

"How do I look?" She asked her roommate, Jennie.  
"What's it for?" Jennie looked up from her phone, a bagel in one hand.  
"Job interview. Sort of. Cold call."  
"Just walking in? Hitting the pavement, like my dad says?" Jennie looked her up and down more carefully. "How professional do they dress at the firm?"  
"I... I don't know, honestly." Truth be told, over the years she had developed a mental image of Suzette that involved pencil skirts, red lipstick and red heeled shoes. A bombshell who could make powerful men cry but be called by her first name only.  
"Should be okay, I guess. Which firm?"  
"Oh... you know. Over Sputhside." Jennie was already engrossed in her phone and didn't notice how evasive Angel was. Truth be told, she didn't exactly want anyone knowing she was chasing after a job because she happened to know the address where there possibly, PROBABLY was an organized crime connection.

An hour later, she parked and stared up at the building. Georgia street was lined with towering old mansions that had been divided into apartments and professional offices some time back. Most had signs for the law offices, dentists and real estate agents inside. 6444 was blank other than the brass numbers over the door. 

This was stupid. Angel got out of her car and crossed the street. This was ridiculous. Angel climbed the massive stone steps, portfolio and resume tucked under her arm. This was a terrible idea. There was no doorbell, so she knocked at the door. This was potentially dangerous. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it.

No one answered, and Angel repeated her knock. When no one still showed, Angel wasn't sure whether to be relieved or frustrated. The building was quiet, the only movement a stray cat prowling under the nearby bushes. Angel tried peering through the windows only to find them coated with some sort of black film on the inside. She wandered back down the stairs into the car, and thought for a while. The mansion had to be several apartments and businesses, but if there was something shady in this business they probably didn't keep normal hours. From here, the rest of the windows, all four stories up seemed black. Maybe it was a criminal front, maybe nobody home.

But something had to be in the building. Plus, she knew for a fact that someone WOULD be there that night, ten o'clock. Angel pondered this in her car for a while, then home to change and to her afternoon shift at the coffeeshop. At some point, she knew she was going to return.

Still smelling like coffee, she drove back reclad in her impromptu interview outfit. She got there at 9:55 and parked across the street from the still dark building. A man in with dark slicked back hair, jeans and a white t shirt paced in front of the building smoking a cigarette. George from the phone call, she figured. He glanced continuously at his cell phone to the front door. At ten o'clock exactly, he snubbed his cigarette, pulled himself up straight, and walked up the stairs. The door was apparently unlocked and George walked right in. Angel had guessed correctly that the windows were blacked out, as the second the door opened, warm light spilled onto the street, and just as quickly disappeared as it closed.

Angel was left alone with her thoughts. George, who knew more than she did about this situation was obviously anxious about entering the building. Plus, a new dark thought had struck her. What if George was walking into a trap, ambushed? What if she heard gunshots or sat all night and George didn't reappear? Would she call the cops? What would she say?

No sooner had the idea passed her mind than the door spilled back open and George emerged. He had a bright smile across his face, and slid down the banister, practically dancing down the last two steps. Whatever happened inside was obviously good news, and that at least was great news for Angel.

She snatched up her portfolio from the passenger seat and was just standing up as George passed.

"Hey, uh, George?"  
"Yeah?" He said and stopped, looking Angel up and down, grinning and obviously unconcerned that he didn't know her.  
"That's, that's Suzette's place over there, right?"  
George glanced to the building where Angel pointed, then back at Angel. "Yeah. New one of hers? That's the official joint. Go right in." He laughed and patted Angel on the shoulder "good luck!"  
He continued his happy saunter down the street and Angel was left to wonder what he thought she needed luck with.

Sure enough the door was unlocked, and Angel stepped inside with a deep breath. Inside, she was greeted with warm woodwork and deep maroon carpeting, brass and stained glass. It was obvious that it hadn't been divided into offices as Angel had thought. In fact, it looked untouched and pristine, like a dollhouse room. It pulled Angel in, and she found herself peeking around a massive pocket door to the sliver of a decorated room inside when she heard a quiet noise in front of her.

Standing on the massive curved stairs was a woman. She had been there the whole time, Angel realized. The woman was around forty, sandy hair pulled back into a French twist, wearing a taupe twin set cardigan and a pastel floral skirt. There was a strange dignity in her non descript appearance and somewhat regal stance. She wouldn't look out of place shopping or at Angels cafe talking with friends over coffee, but Angel could just as easily picture her in some swank fundraiser. And, despite looking nothing like she had pictured, Angel just knew.

"You must be Suzette."  
"I must be," replied the woman. She had made no movement forward, just staring at Angel with a neutral sort of expression.  
"I'm Angel," she hoped it wasn't too presumptuous to introduce herself by her first name, "I know you are involved in some building projects, and I think my background could make me an asset to your, uh, enterprise." It was a sentence from her frequently retyped cover letter and she said it with far more confidence than she felt.  
"I'm involved with building projects?" replied Suzette, her face showing bemusement .  
"Well, yes." Angel thought back to everything she had gleaned from the wrong numbers. "The failed wharf project, and the skyscraper at 21st street."  
The bemusement on Suzette's face disappeared, and for a second Angel thought she had messed up, before suddenly Suzette laughed.  
"I think Ms Angel and I have to have a discussion. Take her to my office, I will be there shortly."

Angel wondered for a second who she was talking to, but a quarter turn she realized that at some point while distracted by the conversation, a massive man had appeared at her elbow. Wordlessly, he gestured down the hall and through a massive door and into a windowless room. It was stacked floor to ceiling with loaded bookshelves, darker wood in here, centered by a warm stained glass chandelier. A leather covered chair sat in front of a carved massive desk, completely empty. Angel spread her portfolio over the desk, then thought better and tidied it back up. She took a deep breath and sat in the chair. She had this under control, even if she didn't fully understand what she was in for.

Suzette said a few words to the giant employee who was, apparently, posted just outside the door, and passed into the room. Angel was shocked suddenly with the realization of how short Suzette was, barely taller than Angel sitting. But Suzette seemed to fill the huge heavy room somehow.

She flipped open the portfolio and spread it out across the desk, leaning over the papers as they sprayed out, then plucking Angel's resume from the pile. Angel realized she should say something, pick another quote from her cover letter. But as she started to speak Suzette raised her hand to silence her and raised her eyes.

"Who told you about me?"  
"No... no one." Angel fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat, "I just heard your name through the grapevine and followed some leads."

Suzette didn't reply. In fact, she didn't even move. The stillness was unnatural, like a mannequin, hip leaning against the desk, resume plucked between thumb and forefinger, other hand stopped with a delicate warning finger. Her gray eyes were locked onto Angel's, burning into her. And Angel was suddenly cold and very conscious of the clock in the hall. It ticked loudly once and there was two much time before it ticked twice, and it seemed like eternity before it clicked the third time.

And suddenly Angel was doing anything to relieve that tension, to fill in the silence, blurting out everything, explaining the phone number, the messages, tricking George, and how she chased down Suzette's number. She was talking fast, desperate, explaining every voicemail message she remembered and how Mr. Simons had shot himself and how he used to talk to Suzette. Then her voice was tumbling over the customers who flung lattes back over the counter when the order wasn't right and how she had to smile in hopes that they wouldn't stiff her tips. And she wanted to run, run away from Suzette's gaze, but her legs felt too chilled to move.

And Suzette hadn't moved an inch, just looked at her with those gray eyes, so Angel continued talking, talking even faster. She explained how she had gotten a scholarship but barely kept her GPA up enough to keep it. Tears streaked down her cheeks and she how she felt like as much of a failure as her boyfriend said she was when he left, taking the dog. And this had to be a nightmare, bile rising in her throats and ice cold fingers burning in her back, Suzette still unmoving as a wax work. So she found herself explaining on, how her mom was a hippy and she never knew her dad, and how she hated everything about her mothers lifestyle and hated her own name even. Then she confessing sneaking out at 15 to make out with Nate Weathers in his garage and breaking her grandmothers Hubble figurine when she was six. And oh god there was nothing else to tell, nothing else but she would confess anything if the cold just stopped. She couldn't stay like this she would throw up or pass out or...

And then, suddenly the spell was broken. All the warmth returned like a blast to Angels body, and it was all she could do to keep from going limp to the floor. But Suzette was idly reading Angels resume, her pose seconds away from the one she had held for what seemed like forever. As though it didn't happen. Did it happen? Angel reached up to her face, which was hot and soaked in tears and pulled away mascara stained fingers. What was this?

"Seeking me out, that took moxie," said Suzette. She leaned across the desk and ran a finger over one of drawings in the portfolio, then flipped it shut "I can respect that. And we have had some openings in our, as you put it, enterprise, for new talent. If you are interested, I am willing to allow you an opportunity."

Angel stared at the floor, evading Suzette's gray eyes, lest she get caught in the cold again. For a second, she wanted to run away, to forget the entire idea. But the huge employee stood outside the door, and Suzette had her resume in hand, address across the top. Even if they let her out, they would know where to find her.

But still, something made her rethink. The tumbling, desperate trip backwards through her life she realized she was always a failure. And here was an opportunity to work for someone who was, completely and utterly, in charge. And somehow, desperately, she wanted that. She wanted into whatever this was, even if it was insane to think so. And so, still avoiding Suzette's eyes, she nodded yes.

Suzette laughed. "I will have all your information by morning, and I expect you to start work immediately. When you have issues call. You, of course, have the number. Never write it down, never give it to anyone else. You never speak my name, mention this place in your dealings. Is that all clear?"

As mud, though Angel, but she nodded. And Suzette laughed again and walked behind Angel's back and clapped a hand to Angels shoulder. And that touch, it was like it chased all the shadows away from Angels mind. She felt weightless, happy, giddy. The reservations she had a moment ago were a distant memory. The employee was escorting her out, and she didn't care, leaving her portfolio behind.

She bounded down the stairs, the night air cool in her lungs. And sitting on a wall near her car was George, another cigarette in his lips. She saw him pontes and laughed and he laughed because he understood. Then somehow Angel was driving home, her windows rolled down and air whipping through the car, music blasting. The colors on the signs seemed brighter than before, every word coming from the radio written just for her.

She danced through her living room, singing and yelling the lyrics to favorite songs, jumping from the furniture to try to catch the beams from Jennie's lava lamp. While the neighbors pounded on the walls for her to be quiet. And then the desire to run and move ended and she had settled into a sort of boneless blissful heap on the couch when Jennie got home.

"What the hell is up with you?"  
"I got a job," there was no reason explaining the rest, the dark fever dream that she could only half remember.  
"Well the goddamn landlord called MY job and said you were tearing this place apart. And I couldn't call you because when I did, it said your line was disconnected."  
"Disconnected?" Angel looked at Jennie in surprise, then pulled out her phone. No service. For some reason, this made Angel fall into a pile of giggles while Jennie stared.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what happened in the game? In the shortest telling possible. Angel was last seen being thrown out of a moving car by a raging Brujah. Suzette was Ventrue primogen, partially controlling the current prince, involved in the death of the previous prince, manipulated her way to stealing a Toreador player characters favorite musician. George straight up didnt survive the third session.
> 
> I have a bunch more of these if theres any interest.


End file.
